Blood of the Dragon

by Jay D Pearson

  “I…I don’t understand.”

  “Not yet. You will. Go now. I will find you again soon.”

  Sound and vision snapped back, and he staggered with dizziness.

  “Miguel? Are you all right?” asked Javier, reaching out a hand to steady him.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said as he straightened, then glanced where he’d seen Balor. The one-eyed man was still there but walking away. He knew he hadn’t imagined the conversation; at the same time, he knew both his conversations with Balor had happened in a place that was other and not possible.

  He was quiet on the ride downtown. He didn’t understand how the one-eyed man did it, but he could manipulate reality. Science wasn’t Miguel’s best subject, but he was pretty sure whatever it was Balor did was outside the laws of physics.

  In the back of his mind was his own weird power that often felt like a separate beast, uncoiling like a snake, bursting out of him in a haze of heat. It too operated outside of what was possible. He knew instinctively it was what Balor called his unique gift.

  By the time Javier’s mom dropped them off at the arcade, a word floated in his consciousness like a gator in a swamp and his sanity an unaware prey at the swamp’s edge. It was a dangerous word and, if he understood Balor correctly, it was deadly as well. He wanted to keep it at bay and not admit its existence.

  Black walls with garish neon lights and Bon Jovi singing Livin’ on a Prayer welcomed them. Row after row of the tall boxes flashed garish images of Pacman, Mortal Kombat, Space Invaders, and other classic games, beckoning them. He’d always darted straight to Donkey Kong, his personal favorite, but instead hung back, slowly following Javier, who preferred Asteroids. He vaguely watched his friend drop tokens into the machine and the funny little amoeba-like images emerged. For a few seconds, he was mesmerized.

  However, the allure was missing today, ruined by Balor’s appearance. The brash sounds, the gaudy lights, the musty smells of spilled cola and greasy food, and the 80s soundtrack blaring in the background seemed so artificial. Until now, its magic had enthralled him.

  There. He’d thought the word. Magic.

  He was pretty certain he knew what it was now, but his mind still rebelled. It was one thing to read about Harry Potter discovering he was a wizard or Artemis Fowl uncovering the world of fairies; there was a thrill in reading about a secret world of magic and pretending it existed. You knew deep down when you read the books, however, that it wasn’t real.

  Only now, however, he knew otherwise, and it horrified him. He fought to reject the notion, but he could no longer pretend that Balor had not altered reality or that his power had caused all those balls to hit Mr. Matthews. He possessed magic.

  Admitting it caused his head to swim and he glanced about for a place to sit. An auto racing game was nearby, and he collapsed onto the vinyl seat, leaning against the back and closing his eyes. Welcome to the Jungle pounded away beneath the zings and zaps of the games. A hundred other people in the arcade with him, including his best friend, and he’d never felt so alone.

  Was that beast he had seen the night of Thanksgiving real? Was his scale man-made, or did it truly come from such a monster? If his magic was real, were there other creatures out there that possessed magic? Other people? Where did his magic come from?

  Then it dawned that if his mom knew Balor, she might know about his magic. The one-eyed man certainly worried her, maybe even frightened her. He thought more about what Balor had said, especially the killers. He’d spoken about their prison and escaping it. Could they have magic too? Was that why his mom had never spoken about her past?

  His eyes snapped open and he sat up straight. It all made sense now. If he had magic, his mom had magic. Events in his life flashed in his mind like images from video games, and he saw them in a new light. Things his mom had said sounded different and made sense in a new way.

  He recalled the time when he and Carlos were little and the neighbor’s crazy dog had been belly-crawling, stalking them across the street. He’d turned and screamed at the moment the dog had charged…and hit an invisible wall it leaped over the sidewalk. He’d almost forgotten the incident, but now it provided new clarity

  Did she know he had magic? She has to, he realized. Is that what she’s afraid of? That I have magic? Why? What about magic scares her?

  A strange sensation swept over him, a surety he could use his magic on these machines. He could not explain it, but he was as certain as he’d been when he’d written that World War I report for history.

  He strode towards Donkey Kong with a cocky swagger. The beast inside him that was his power—his magic—began to uncoil. As he slid a token into the slot, the magic began to sway as it rose up, a cobra being called forth by a snake charmer. For the first time, he could sense the danger in it, but he was certain like never before he could control it.

  The game began, and he urged the magic to flow to his fingertips as he manipulated the joystick and the buttons. His magic roiled in his belly, a warm tingle pushing against him as if it was alive…and wanted to be free.

  He had never played Donkey Kong with such skill. It was suddenly easy, and he passed through level after level at inhuman speed.

  “Hey guys!” yelled Javier from behind his shoulder. “You’ve gotta see Miguel!”

  Seconds later, the other two boys had joined his friend with loud “Woahs!” and it wasn’t long before a crowd formed as he continued to speed through each level, racing up ladders, dodging and leaping Donkey Kong’s barrels and other traps without pause, and hitting every bonus without dying once.

  By the time he became aware of the acrid smell, however, it was too late to stop. His hands grew hot—painfully hot—but he couldn’t let go. The magic had taken control, forcing him to play faster and faster. He could hear screams behind him, but his eyes were locked onto the pixels as if they had come to life.

  Sparks crackled and fizzled from the sides and top of the machine, but still he could not stop playing. His Mario was racing faster than possible now, the score a blur as it raced towards one million. He could hear nothing but the game.

  Hands gripped his shoulders, pulling him, but he could not let go until someone grabbed his wrists and yanked his hands off the controls. He and several others flew backwards, crashing in a pile several feet away, and the world went dark.

  As he came to, Javier and the arcade manager’s faces hovered above him, his other friends looking on concerned. For a few seconds, he remained flat on his back as their faces slowly swirled into focus.

  “That hurt,” was all he could mutter as they helped him to his feet. He touched the back of his head, quickly finding a tender lump.

  “Are you all right, kid?” the manager asked. He was a large, bespectacled man with short dark hair and trim beard, and he patted Miguel’s arms as if checking for broken bones.

  “I’m okay,” he said, trying to push the man’s hands away. Then he glanced at the machine.

  Electrical sparks still spit from both sides and ringlets of smoke swirled like blue-grey helixes. The joystick and buttons had melted, the former now the shape of his grip. The screen pulsed “Game Over.”

  He continued to stare dazedly at the machine even as first paramedics and then Javier’s mom arrived, making a fuss as she attempted to help the EMTs check him for any other injuries besides the bump on his head.

  He studied his fingers, wiggling them. They were a bit red where he’d touched the controls. He’d been so certain he knew what to do, that he could control his magic. The possibility he would fail had not existed. Now cold and fear engulfed him. Panic creeped around the edges of reason.

  Balor’s last words to him became an anchor in that moment, the one-eyed man’s promise to find him again soon and teach him. It was not a soothing, comforting thought. It was a rabid pit bull guarding against a hungry lion. But it was his only hope.

  Interlude 1

  The Yellow Emperor

  In the days of Ao Guang the Dragon
King, China was united by Huang-di of the Huaxia tribes, and became the Yellow Emperor, the first emperor of China. Nevertheless, not all of China accepted his rule, and in 2697 BC, the Battle of Zhuolu was fought on the Zhuolu Plains by the Yellow River. All would have been lost, for Emperor Huang-di was beset on all sides by Chi-You of the Jiuli tribes. His enemy had cast a Jiangshi fog so that his dead would continue to fight, overwhelming the valiant Huaxia forces.

  Then it was that the dragons came to the emperor’s aid with their king himself diving from the clouds. They smote Chi-You and all the Jiuli until Emperor Huang-di was victorious and the enemies of China routed.

  Nevertheless, Ao Guang was mortally wounded, for he had used his own body as a shield to protect Huang-di from the Jiangshi dead. As the battle ended, the emperor himself held the Dragon King’s head in his lap and, when Ao Guang asked for a boon, Huang-di said, “Whatever is in my power to grant thee, such will I do.”

  “O wise emperor, your wisdom is great. You are descended from Shangdi and Yo Huang; their god magic has made you mighty and the Huaxia the greatest of all the tribes. Now, if you will grant this boon to my people, your reign will be forever revered in China.”

  “I am not worthy of such renown,” said the emperor humbly, “yet I will endeavor to do what thou askesth of me.”

  “Grant me this then, O emperor. Bring to me the Zhenzhu Nuwang, the Queen Pearl. It has guarded thee through all thy battles, but thy time of war is now ended.”

  Then did the emperor instruct that the Zhenzhu Nuwang be brought forth. Four mighty warriors carted it in its bronze ding, the sacrificial vessel that had accompanied the Huaxia in all their battles. The lid was raised and the great pearl lifted out. It was as large as the emperor’s head, but that is little more than a bauble to a dragon. It was mottled green like jade and as hard as a diamond, yet it gave off its own luminous green light.

  The warriors carried the Zhenzhu Nuwang and set it before the Yellow Emperor. The dragon king roused himself a final time.

  “Wouldst thou give my thy hand, O wise emperor, and share thy blood with me?”

  Huang-di bowed before his friend and put forth his palm. The dragon king then held out his own talon, which dripped with his blood, and pierced the hand of the emperor so that their blood comingled.

  “With thine own magic that hast made you preeminent among all China, and with the deep magic of Shangdi the Creator, whose blood runs in your veins, and with the blood I have shed willingly for you, a greater magic will we make. For my people, I now make the Longzhu, the Dragon Pearl, which will enable them to travel the stars, as is their destiny. China needs us no longer, for you are now China.”

  The Dragon King raised the talon, red with blood, and pierced the Queen Pearl. The luminous glow of the green stone grew until its light shone so brightly that all had to cover their eyes. Then the light was swallowed by the stone, and the Zhenzhu Nuwang became as white as any true pearl, and its glow was no more.

  The faces of all grew sad, for they thought the Queen Pearl had died, but when Ao Guang pulled his talon out, a red halo formed around the stone, glowing with a pulse like a beating heart.

  “Behold, the Longzhu,” spoke the Dragon King, and with the last of his strength, he lifted up the white stone so all could see. Then he set the stone on the field before the emperor and rested his head upon the grass.

  “O King Ao Guang,” said the emperor. “All China will remember thy sacrifice and honor thy memory. The symbol of the dragon shalt always be a sign for China.”

  Then did the Dragon King perish and the Yellow Emperor of China gave the Dragon Pearl to the son of the king, Ao Bai Ze, and to his young grandson, Ao Shun. Many of the dragons then travelled the stars, as was their destiny, although some remained to make certain that Huang-di, the Yellow Emperor, did not falter, and that China became mighty among all the nations.

  And so Huang-di reigned in Shaanxi, ruling China for one hundred years. The other events of Huang-di’s reign, from beginning to end, are written in the Shiji, the Records of the Grand Historian.

  As for the dragons, they followed Ao Bai Ze and the Dragon Pearl, travelling the stars until they found a new home.

  Chapter 16

  The Dragon

  The scintillating blooms of flowers in the narrow vale welcomed Wu Zhao’s retreat as if ignorant of the deaths of her brothers and other dragons.

  Oberon’s faery warriors, on the other hand, grew quiet as she and her hongs glided into the glade in ragged V formations with gaps where there should’ve been a living dragon or frayed where a wounded dragon struggled to keep its place. Even before they landed, healers from among Ao Shun’s hongs swooped up to greet the injured.

  She circled once before landing, searching for a space away from others where she could mourn, but the vale was not large enough to accommodate both the faery and dragon armies and leave room for privacy. Below her, Ao Shun’s rainbow serpents crowded together to make room for her hongs.

  The only remaining open space in the glade was a faery circle at the center. Ao Shun squatted on his haunches there, the tips of his wings arched high above him while his long whiskers twirled slowly, reflecting his pensive eyes. He towered over the aged faery beside him who sat on a throne of thick branches that had been set in the middle of the circle. Ao Shun’s long, muscular frame curled behind the throne like a bodyguard, but the form was stiff, reminding her the First Ascendant was just as ancient—if not more so—than the king.

  It was the last place she wanted to be, but there was nowhere to hide from those beckoning eyes, and so she set down in the space before them.

  Oberon mac Lir rose to greet her, gripping a tall, worn wooden staff. The king had once been tall for a faery, but age had stooped him so that his warriors were towers in comparison. His large, nearly solid blue eyes slanted more sharply than most faeries, and they still sparkled like sapphires. She knew age had certainly not dimmed his mind, even if he could no longer lead his army into battle.

  The points of his ears rose sharply above his head, white hairs sprouting from the edges. His remaining hair was wispy and short, unlike his warriors, whose hair spiked above their ears on top and cascaded down their backs in long straight strands. The royal crest was emblazoned on his golden breastplate, the tree of life, with emeralds representing its fruit. Even though he no longer fought, his broadsword remained strapped to his side, its scabbard gilded with golden cinquefoils, but the hilt adorned with naught save leather strips. The only other symbols of his stature were a thin circlet in a complex, intricate knot that repeated in loops of endless strands, and a royal blue robe over his back.

  Three times he tapped the bronze heel of his staff against his throne, the taps thudding unnaturally loud throughout the vale. As one, the faery warriors rose to attention, their grey-green cloaks swishing like a sudden gust of wind as they turned to face the throne.

  She lowered her head deferentially, her eyes focused on the blades of grass so her chagrin at the disaster at the Cathaoir River might remain hidden, even though her whiskers drooped tellingly.

  “This is she, then?” The king’s voice was firm, and she knew it carried to all parts of the glade. There was no hint of the displeasure she had feared.

  “It is,” boomed Ao Shun, his pride undisguised.

  She did not hear the king approach until she saw his bare feet enter her vision, and could not help but glance up, startled. They should be reprimanding her, banishing her even, for what had happened only an hour earlier.

  “The word of your mighty heroism has already reached us, First Ascendant of the Colors. You have done what none thought possible in breaking the Usurper’s dome, and you have defeated the river guardian as well.”

  “I…I thank you,” she stammered, uncertain of the faery king’s declaration. “But we…we lost so many.”

  Oberon bowed respectfully. “The price of war is high, but the gain is peace. Their sacrifice—especially those of your brothers—will be immorta
lized in song and dance. Of you, however, I must ask a great boon.”

  She glanced at Ao Shun, who nodded sagely.

  "What do you wish of me?”

  In response, Oberon spread out his arms, extending his staff as if to encompass all the massed armies.

  “Today is a red day. Faery will kill faery as we have never seen, but it is the will of Finaarva that has brought us to this horror. Today we sacrifice ourselves as well as our brothers in the Sluagh Sidhe to bring his terror to an end. His magic is broken and we must act with haste to ensure his downfall. Now, before he has time, we go forth to a final battle.”

  The king turned in a slow circle so that all could see him.

  “Grant mercy when it is asked for. Spare all who would live so when night falls and the Usurper is in chains, we will all be the Sidhe of Faery, a great tribe made whole!”

  The faery army roared, pounding their staves and spears on the ground in rhythm so that Wu Zhao could feel the pulse. The king turned back to her.

  “First Ascendant of the Colors, the boon I ask of you is this: lead my warriors. Ao Shun will add his rainbow hongs to those of yours who are fit to battle. Pursue the Sluagh Sidhe until you capture Finaarva. Will you do this for me?”

  The world paused and she reeled, disbelieving the request. She had been defeated and her brothers had died. How can he ask this of me?

  Ao Shun’s head snaked towards her until his snout was close to her ears.

  “Revenge,” he whispered, “can provide you the salve you desire. The dead will wait for you to mourn.”

  She stared at him. Does he not realize how I have failed?

  “Finish what you began,” Ao Shun murmured. “You are the strongest of all the dragons. I am old, Wu Zhao. Do this, and you will be the one to lead us to the stars.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Given no chance to ponder any other response, Wu Zhao found herself perched at the edge of the Cathaoir River a couple of hours later. Above her hovered a dozen hongs made up of colors and rainbows. Spread out on the beach and in the woods behind her, half of Oberon’s forces stood ready to charge through the gaping hole of Finaarva’s dome on the far beach.